


Illicit Affairs

by lesbiannoodlesoup (orphan_account)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Introspection, M/M, No Beta, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Song: illicit affairs (Taylor Swift), Very short but that's because I wrote it on a school night, first fic lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lesbiannoodlesoup
Summary: “And that’s the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares,”After Hannibal’s arrest, Will reflects.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Illicit Affairs

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thank you so much for choosing my fic lol. Keep in mind this is my first fic and I wrote it in about two hours. I recommend listening to the song 'illicit affairs' by Taylor Swift, as that's what inspired this fic and I included a few lyrical Easter eggs, but don't feel obligated, it's not a huge part of the story. I'm not the best at checking my grammar, so if you see anything tell me so I can fix it. I hope you enjoy!

Will assumed they wouldn’t just let him go. He assumed they would bring him into custody, or at least ask him a few questions, but when he shot a glance at Jack, short-lived and fleeting in the blustering snow, he received only a curt nod. Jack had never been one to leave him be, but maybe it was the cut above his brow, or the way he stood, exposed, watching Hannibal being cuffed and sat in the back of a cop car, but something about him had let him off the hook. Without another look back, he took a deep breath and opened his cheap screen door, screeching and squealing as if the house was in pain. He supposed it was, Will breaching its walls once again, ready to once again overflow it with reminders of his life and his knack for getting himself hurt.

The door closed with a sharp click behind him, and after a few seconds of trying to restrain himself, he turned back around, pushing his dusty curtain aside with a shaky hand. Outside, lights flashed red and blue, painting a wash of color over the lawn. He could see the car with Hannibal inside, probably making polite conversation with the man at the wheel. Will let out a bittersweet chuckle, thinking of Hannibal’s ever-so-kind exterior in contrast to his intricacies hidden beneath his person-suit. Some time later, it could have been five minutes or an hour, the officers ended their whispered conversations and got back into their cars. Will watched as each car drove off in a line, taking Hannibal, along with his old life, away to God knows where. He still stood at the window, as if there was a string tying himself to Hannibal, stretching tighter and tighter around his neck as Hannibal drove away. Eventually, when the string was threatening to choke him to death, he moved from the window panel, but the pressure never subsided.

He moved slowly, afraid to disrupt the old oak floors as he made his way to the kitchen. He didn’t turn on the light, letting the pale glow from outside light his way to a cup of coffee. Because of his absence, there was no milk, so he had to drink his coffee black. With the cup still clutched in his hands, he sank into a deep leather chair, the arms worn raw from too many years of use. The accompanying table was even shabbier, chipped at the edges and wood finish nearly gone everywhere else. Will supposed it was like him in a way, tired and dull and barely usable, but everyone still abusing it because it did its job well. He thought there must be something sad about comparing himself to a table, but he elected to ignore it.

He leaned his head back to the ceiling and scrubbed at the scratchy stubble decorating his chin with one hand. Now that Hannibal was gone, he could have a normal life again, take an early retirement from the FBI, and relax with his dogs. He could spend his days fishing, his evenings making fly traps. A simple life, away from Freddie Loundses and Jack Crawfords and the prying eyes of law enforcement and the local news stations. A life where he didn’t have to be Will Graham, didn’t have to be anyone, really.

Being no one sounded like a dream come true.

But beneath the idyllic mirage of his fantasy, there lay the truth that he couldn't just be no one. Not with his sick and cluttered mind, more an amalgamation of everyone else’s than his own. Not with his memories or his nightmares, chasing him far away from sleep every night. He didn’t think he could ever be normal as long as Hannibal Lecter was alive.

Will concluded that Hannibal was at the route of it all. Hannibal, suave and elegant, a mockery of the high class society he belonged to. Hannibal, mussed and bloody, slicing a line through Will’s abdomen, twisting the knife. Hannibal was wicked. He killed for pleasantries, he showed a lack of remorse, he left chaos in his wake.

Abominable. Repugnant. Gruesome. Outrageous.

There were many words that could be used to describe Hannibal, but none of them quite fit. Hannibal was a bad person, but no matter how hard he tried, Will couldn’t quite erase everything else. The way he washed the blood from his hands after Randall Tier, the way he made him meals (even if they did include human flesh). Will couldn’t quite forget the way they would glance across a room, a stolen stare in a sea of eyes. He could remember watching him cook, watching him kill. It was wrong. Will knew it was wrong, but maybe he was wrong too.

Maybe the way he understood Hannibal wasn’t a coincidence, but a work of fate. Hannibal had changed him in every way, showed him colors he couldn't see with anyone else. Will could never recover from the impact of Hannibal, but when he asked himself what was so bad about that, he couldn’t think of anything. Hannibal had once left him with a smile on his side, but now he left him with another scar, a letter in blood addressed to his psyche. There wasn’t a way for Will to be without Hannibal, and that was his design. Even while in prison Hannibal couldn’t stand to give Will any peace. That was the nature of their relationship, wasn’t it? One of them was always vying for the other’s attention, like a dog begging for scraps.

Will wondered when he would start begging again. Would he visit the BSHCI? Would he send a letter? Maybe he could speak at his trial, just to catch a glimpse. Yes, just a flash of the man that had rattled his very self. Maybe he could sustain off just that, drink in Hannibal like his lifeblood. He would use that to sate himself until he couldn’t anymore. He wasn’t sure what to do after that, but he never was one for the long term.

He wondered what Hannibal would think if he saw him in court. Maybe that could be Hannibal’s lifeblood, the image of Will, trimmed up in a suit, hair combed back, face shaven. Maybe that could be what’s left in Hannibal’s memory palace. Will, sat high on a self as to not be disturbed, the only trace of him a special artifact in the nicest room. Hannibal could take him like a drug when he needed, a dwindling mercurial high. Will knew that it would only work the first few hundred times, but maybe that dependency would be what would have Hannibal coming back to him. Maybe that’s what Will really wanted.

He was like Hannibal in that way. Keeping the other man running back, no matter how disastrous the end would be. They were sightless, they didn’t care what the future held as long as the present was as soaked with the other’s presence as possible. Will wondered if he could bottle Hannibal’s presence and drink it like a fine wine, paired with all his own uncertainties on a silver platter. Something about their relationship would always be forbidden, illicit, guilty with its effects but made up of glimmers of a moment carved from their very cores. For Hannibal, Will would ruin himself a million little times.

With a sigh and a curse under his breath, Will gathered himself and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was late, and probably for the best if he went to bed sooner rather than later. After rinsing his cup and changing his clothes, Will lay in silence and darkness, staring at the blank wall in front of him, but as he drifted to sleep, the string around his throat loosened a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please let me know, and if you have constructive criticism, I would also love to hear it, as I'm working on improving every day. <3


End file.
